


No Way to Say

by Seishuku Skuld (skuldchan)



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-24
Updated: 2004-12-24
Packaged: 2019-10-29 20:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17814857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuldchan/pseuds/Seishuku%20Skuld
Summary: One winter evening, Ky Kiske invites Sol Badguy into his house, and slowly, as time passes, Sol starts to become a part of his life.





	No Way to Say

Sol wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up at staring at the cream-colored door, the number 620 gilded in brass, glimmering dully in the semi-darkness. He stared at it, a little perplexed that the enigmatic workings of his inner mind had planted his feet here, when obviously his head was in a very faraway place. A very faraway, time even. His look of confusion quickly turned into a scowl, and he was partly through executing a quick turn to take him away and out of the city when the lock snapped with smart click.

“Come in.” Ky beckoned him as if completely expecting Sol Badguy on his doorstep, throwing the door open wide, the warmth of his abode suddenly irresistibly inviting. Seeing that Sol was about to make his escape, Ky reached out, wrapping slender fingers around his wrist, and jerked him backwards. 

Sol found himself surprised at the strength in the young blond’s arms, a power which, for the critical moment had overpowered his instinct to get the hell away. 

“Come in,” Ky repeated more firmly, and this time Sol obeyed.

* * *

It was a cold December evening in Paris, and the snow covered le Jardin du Luxembourg, its flowers already long gone, withered away with the last of autumn into the dusty soil. He had seated himself on one of Ky’s couches, the nearest to the window and furthest away from the orange glow of the fireplace in the middle of the room. Nevertheless, he found that even at in the chilliest corner of the apartment he was warm enough, especially with the rich Assam tea that Ky had served him. He tasted a little bit of alcohol mixed in with the milk, rum perhaps. Did Ky always take liquor with his tea?

Ky started the conversation first, setting down his cup carefully on its china, a quick but efficient maneuver, no doubt honed by many years of having to do so in a rush. 

“You’re not terribly talkative tonight,” the blond said, allowing a hint of amusement to creep into his voice. 

Sol found it hard to meet Ky’s steady gaze, and so settled for the fire, because that at least a little less obvious than turning to look outside the window. He was listening, he just didn’t want to look too much like he wasn’t.

“But I suppose that’s not something entirely uncharacteristic.” Ky took another sip of the Assam, and the briskness of his motion betrayed him in only the slightest fashion. It was a tremor detectable only to Sol’s sharp eyes, and he suddenly understood the need for liquor in Ky’s drink. The fact that his tea had a hint of rum spice in it had probably been the blond’s oversight. Or maybe, Ky just wanted to relax him a little, even though he should know full well that alcohol didn’t work.

“You’re not going to tell me why you’re here,” Ky said again, softly, his voice lowered to the suit the soft crackling of the fire, “but that’s okay.” The blond smiled wanly, lifting a finger to stall the movement of Sol’s lips beginning to form words. 

“Don’t tell me until you’re sure you’re ready. Or you’ll regret it along with everything else.”

Sol willed his face not to break into a thoughtful frown. Ky could not possibly know what he was talking about. 

“But it’s going to be cold outside tonight, so I’ll let you stay the night.” Ky drained his cup of tea and appeared to find its effects quite satisfactory. Ky took his dishes into the other room, depositing them in the sink. 

Sol heard him pad out of the kitchen, his bare feet making hardly a sound on the wooden floors, a small vibration only he and a few others would be able to detect. Ky returned a few moments later with a pillow and ample blankets, depositing the load of linens at one end of the couch. 

“This is all I can offer you, but you’ve made do with worse.” He said it like he knew it, without even the slightest bit of doubt. And he did.

“I must rise early for work tomorrow morning, so you’ll excuse me if I bid you an early goodnight.” He turned and was about to disappear around the corner when he abruptly stopped added as an afterthought, “There’s going to be storms all this week. Feel free to stay until they cease. 

“Goodnight, Sol.”

The way the blond rolled that last sound, a deft, French flicker, echoed in his mind even though the he could hear the sounds of Ky walking about his bedroom.

Sol didn’t sleep that night. When Ky rose he found that there was a silent figure still occupying the chair, staring off into the fire.

“Good morning,” Ky said, slipping into his cloak of blue, made of sturdy, thick wool. He had woken up a little later than usual, and would subsequently be forced to take his morning fare in his office over the usual reports filing in. As a polite gesture before he left, he left a set of spare keys on the hook by the door.

* * *

Ky returned late that night, having gotten caught up in extra paperwork, some dull thing involving incorrect conduct of an officer underneath his command. He had been stern to the man, but fair, holding little resentment for the newly appointed youngster as he spent a few extra hours in his office writing a report and a recommendation to his superiors not to immediately demote the man. 

It was with a pleasant, productive sort of tiredness that he found himself opening the door to his home, perhaps a little surprised to see that it was dark and unoccupied. Telling himself that by all rights he should not have been surprised, Ky lit the lights and brushed the snow off his cloak before hanging it up in the closet.

Ky helped himself to a small dinner, a simple meal of fruit, some bread leftover from the previous day, and a few slices of cured meat. He chewed his food thoughtfully, not really tasting it, but contemplating instead the quietness of the room disturbed only occasionally by the howling of the wind and the blizzard that was beginning outside his window. He cleared the dishes into the sink, washed them, and at a quarter past midnight turned the lights out and rolled over in bed, drawing the down covers lightly about his chin to ward off the night’s chill.

But in truth, he admitted to himself before he drifted off, it wasn’t just the chill he was trying protect himself from.

* * *

Ky woke late again the next morning and he rushed out of his bedroom, having dressed in a hurry. Once again he had no time for breakfast before work, but he needn’t have bothered because the sight of soaking wet white pants hanging from the bathtub’s curtain railing jolted any signs of hunger from his body. 

He smiled as he made his way into the kitchen, passing by a figure that sat at the armchair nearest the door, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts and the morning sunlight. Sol was wearing only his black sleeveless shirt, the red one draped about a chair in the kitchen, a small and evaporating puddle of water below it. Sol was also wearing a blanket about his waist, and it occurred to Ky at that moment that the other man did not have a second change of clothes. Satisfied suddenly, and unable to recall the dark dreams of the previous night, Ky went back into his bedroom, pulling an oversized black shirt out of his closet. 

“Here,” he tossed it at Sol. “Change into this,” Ky said, as brusquely business-like as he could. Sol held it up, noted that it was a size he was able to fit in, and took off his black shirt on the spot. His keen eyes did not miss the near invisible stitches that sewed up many tears in the shirt. 

“I don’t have pants that will fit you, but I’m sure yours will dry before the day’s out.” A little voice in the back of Ky’s head whispered insidiously that he hoped the pants wouldn’t finish drying until well after sundown. 

Ky slipped into his cloak, noting curiously that the keys he had provided had been stuck back on their hook by the door. Perhaps that portended well, though he wasn’t sure he knew quite exactly what ‘well’ was. 

“Goodbye, Sol.”

And even the weight of the paperwork throughout the day could not a keep a small smile from curling itself about his lips when the sun set, and he worked his way back home through snowy streets.

* * *

Ky told himself firmly that he was not surprised to find Sol still in his house when he returned. The man didn’t lift a finger to help him prepare dinner, but he seemed to be rather absorbed in Ky’s old leatherbound copy of _Paradise Lost_ , so the blond didn’t ask any questions, and didn’t bother him. 

Dinner was another simple affair, Ky had made a simple salad and some flat noodles in stew, and set it out on a the tiny table in the living room that served him as a dining table. 

“Dinner?” he asked, setting down enough plates, bowls, and utensils for two. Even busy in that activity, he did not miss the glance that Sol gave his blankets and the half-glare that was directed in the direction of the bathroom. Ky had to work to hide his grin, and was about to comment that Sol probably didn’t have anything he hadn’t seen before, when the man shut the book and walked to the table, having abandoned the blanket, naked from the waist down. Ky was polite enough to keep his eyes glued adamantly on the pot he was carrying to the table, though his mind was calculating the pieces of Sol’s half-dry clothing that were lying about the house. He found one piece missing. 

Ky passed the rest of the meal content that his table was opaque.

* * *

Several days had passed when Ky leapt out of bed, shooting a rushed glance at the clock that told him that for the heavens-knew-what-th time that week that he had overslept. It was nearly Christmas and he getting a little overworked because so many officers were taking their leave, but this happened every year and he had never overslept for so much so long at a time in his entire career. He did not have an alarm clock, but that was because he adamantly insisted that his internal clock was just as functional as anything that would get him awake in the morning. As long as he still made it inside his office and at his desk in time for the little clock hands to hit eight o’clock, there was nothing terribly life-threatening. Or lifestyle-threatening perhaps. 

He slid into his desk after hanging his cloak upon its wooden rack, Bernard coming in from a side door to pass him the usual morning croissant and a pot full of steaming Darjeeling. 

“Merci,” Ky said as Bernard bowed curtly and handed him the morning reports. He filed through crime reports in Montmartre, wrote a few memos to officers directly underneath his command, and took a look at the bounty list. His eyes skimmed smoothly past five bounties that had been collected by “Anonymous” within the last few days, his mind automatically inserting a name starting with the letter ‘S’ in place of that ‘A.’ He jumped that hurdle fairly easily, figuring that Sol had to do something during the day. There was no way that Sol was sitting in his armchair at night merely for the pleasure of the company of his books, numerous though they were. Of course, he was certain that Sol wasn’t sitting in that armchair every night because he enjoyed home-cooked meals prepared by young French ex-soldiers.

Ky paused, lifting the cup to his lips to take a sip. He spent the rest of the morning wondering exactly what it was that Sol wasn’t telling him. There was a lot, that was for sure. Ky found no problem passing away the slower afternoon hours.

* * *

Christmas morning Ky found that he had woken up over an hour later than his usual, and even though there was no scrambling to his office today, he was quite irritable when he dressed for Mass. For the first time in many weeks he found his room living empty, bereft of the usual figure which slumbered in the there, leaning its great, disheveled head against the back of the armchair. 

Ky frowned, more irritated than usual when he found that his present for Sol had lain unopened on the table, but that next to it there was ticking a brand new clock. It was of the design that was currently all the rage amongst the rich households in Paris, a wooden contraption with a silly bird that sprang out of it, going “cuckoo” at whatever time you set it to. 

But Ky couldn’t even bring himself to scowl at it as the thing popped out, a brightly painted blue bird with a red beak, and reminded him that it was time for Mass.

* * *

It was five days before Sol made his way back, and it wasn’t because he was lost—he was never lost—it was because he felt a lot of reluctance at returning. It took five days, for that enigmatic little ghoul inside his brain to tell him that while Gears were able to survive extremely cold temperatures, that didn’t mean they liked it. Or that it felt any less cold to be alone in Paris in the middle of the winter, when the powers of that be decided that a full snowstorm—to accompany the three that had already swept over the country during the month—was in order. 

The door opened without him ever knocking. 

“Come in.”

This time Sol didn’t needed to be asked twice. That was funny, because as soon as Ky shut the door behind him, he realized that Sol still had his keys in his pocket.

* * *

“It’s cold outside tonight,” Ky said slowly as he shut the door, his fingers resting lightly on the skin of Sol’s forearm. It was cold and damp with just a hint of warmth. Ky wanted to tell him he couldn’t believe Sol was out in nothing but his usual clothes in that sort of weather, but he could believe it. He believed that Sol was that stupid. He also believed that Sol could survive much colder temperatures with much less clothing. “And your clothes are wet.”

“Yeah,” Sol said, taking the red fabric of his Riot shirt between his fingers, as if realizing that yes, indeed his clothes were soaked, and that this was a new thought that hadn’t occurred to him as he stepped inside. Perhaps he’d just intended to settle himself in his usual armchair.

Sol made a move to the hallway, to go hang his clothing in the bathroom.

“There’s towels in the closet.” But Sol already knew that.

“Your spare shirt is in the cabinet next to the mirror.” But Ky knew that Sol already knew that. “You’re staying here for good.” 

Sol stopped halfway through shedding his pants. “You don’t know that,” he said, at length. 

“Sure, I do.” Ky smiled at him, tossing him a wrapped box. “Merry late Christmas.”

Sol looked dubiously at the box, unwrapped it and found himself with a nice pair of loose linen pants. His twisted his mouth around the word, because he couldn’t recall having to say it in the past century or so.

“Thanks.” It left a strange taste in his mouth. He followed that with “No, you don’t,” which was much more familiar to him.

“You’re welcome,” Ky said with a small nod, not moving from his place in the doorway even as Sol stripped in the confines of the bathroom. Sol had never been self-conscious about anything, so Ky tried his best not to look like he was pushing himself not to care either. “And yes, I do.”

Sol had learned from his days in the war that it was not a good idea for anyone to argue with Ky, but instead it was better to just simply do what he had to and let Ky know about it after the fact. Which meant that he would be—

“Don’t you dare think that.”

Sol gave Ky his flat look, the one he usually gave the boy when he wanted the kid to know that it was one of his business, and that no, he didn’t give a damn.

Ky smiled and shook his head as soon as he saw Sol’s expression, taking a step forward and in a surprisingly intimate gesture, reached up to touch Sol’s cheek. 

“Actually,” he said softly, “you can do what you want. You have the keys. You know my schedule.”

As soon as he his clothes had dried, Sol was gone early the next morning, long before the telltale “cuckoo.” Ky was a little sluggish in his movements that morning, and for the first time in his career he was more than five minutes late to work. But no one at work asked him questions, and no one at work seemed to notice, nor to care, not even Bernard who entered as soon as Ky seated himself, and he went on with the day as it always had been, though he found that his mind often wandered, and that he had developed a tendency to stare off into space for long periods of time.

* * *

Sol found himself back at Ky’s home later that evening, cursing France for its decision to remain in an abnormally cold winter with abnormally cruel winter storms. He had walked around the city the entire day, his head lowered both against the wind and against the weight of his own thoughts, in deep conversation with himself. He remembered his long-dead mother having told him once that as a child he talked too much. 

“Those who are always talking are never thinking enough,” she had said to him one day, though he had thought that a load of crap at the even when he was a child. He did think a lot. Nowadays, he thought a lot more and talked less. “And those who never talk are always thinking.” Despite his mother’s words still being a load of crap, he suspected there was some truth in her words. There was only so much to talk about and so much to think about, and since he did not talk very much anymore, he did a lot more thinking. There were always things to think about, always things to talk about. Only nowadays, the latter he kept to himself. 

“Come in,” he said when he opened the door that evening, a few hours after deciding that the warm indoors was much preferable to the cold, rising from his usual chair when he heard the soft footsteps coming through the door.

Ky’s cheeks were flushed with cold, his blue eyes opened wide with surprise. Sol turned around quickly, walking back to his usual corner, so he missed the smile on Ky’s face. 

“I—“ Sol began as Ky was hanging up his clothes and leaving his boots in the hallway, but Ky interrupted him. 

“Am not much of a talker?”

Sol furrowed his eyebrows.

“That’s pretty obvious,” Ky chuckled.

Sol’s mouth twitched. 

“It’s cold in the middle of the city at night,” Ky said, as if Sol had never started speaking. “Do you know that you were trembling last night?” He continued before Sol could make an answer. Or decide that he didn’t want to answer. He walked into the room, kneeling at the side of Sol’s favorite armchair. “You’ve done all you can this past month,” Ky said intensely, capturing Sol’s gaze and holding it, not letting the other man look away. “Are you ready?”

Sol frowned.

“Don’t let your inhibitions control you.”

“I—“

“Haven’t always been so bad at talking?”

And then Ky shut up for the rest of the night, and took the next day off work.

* * *

“Thank you,” Ky said, the first words that passed his lips when Sol’s eyelids opened. They fluttered open slowly, unsure if they truly wanted to open, or if they’d rather be asleep again. Did this happen every morning?

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, after letting Sol sleep in it the previous night. He had never intended to let their conversation move into the bedroom, but there it went, though he was mildy surprised and greatly relieved that nothing else had transpired in there. Ky could tell that Sol had probably not slept at all for almost a week, and that that had been the only reason that Sol had eventually dozed off in exhaustion, in the middle of trying to remember some important detail. 

Sol groaned and rolled over, only to be met by the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. He mumbled a curse, burying his head further into the blankets, as if this was a regular routine, and not something Ky was seeing for the first time. 

“For telling me everything.” 

Ky shifted his legs onto the bed, one of his hands lifting through air to find itself buried in Sol’s mass of loose, perpetually tangled hair. Sol’s hair was soft and thin like fur, ample handfuls for to him to grasp gently and still have wild tufts sticking up between his fingers. He did not mind that from the way Sol’s body stiffened at the touch that the last thing the Gear wanted was to be in this bed, with Ky Kiske’s hands in his hair. It was an intimate gesture, not one borne of physical familiarity—though that was a part of it—it was because Sol had shared a little bit of himself the previous night. And if Sol so wished, he too could put his fingers in Ky’s hair. 

Sol groaned again, and Ky smiled wryly, speaking aloud Sol’s thoughts, because the other man wouldn’t.

“There’s no regretting it or getting out of it now,” Ky said. “Unless you can turn back time too. I’ll leave the room.” Ky reluctantly scooted himself off the bed, his fingers lingering at the tips of Sol’s hair before falling back to his side. “So you can get up in peace. I’ll be…” and he glanced at the clock, which mysteriously and unreliably had not cuckooed at the appropriate time earlier that morning, “making lunch.”

He left the room and waited as the food and the tea grew cold, for Sol to open the door to the bedroom. He didn’t until dinner time. To make things easier, Ky was silent as he looked up from his book, closed it and reheated the meals Sol missed. Sol didn’t speak to him the next day, nor the day after that, nor for the rest of the week, but Ky just accepted it wordlessly. Sol did share his bed at night however, but neither of them could find it in himself to initiate anything.

Ky did not mind that either, and found that he rather enjoyed the pleasure of having another warm body in his bed in the winter cold. Sol tensed every time Ky cuddled closer, seeking a little more warmth, as if just one bit of it was not enough and he had to have it all. 

“I’m lonely,” Ky would whisper to him. “And you’re lonely too.” 

And neither of them could find it in himself to deny that it felt good, even if they were unwilling to carry it beyond that for the moment.

* * *

The new year came and went, and Ky was more or less back on schedule, the cuckoo clock going off every morning at precisely seven o’clock. Ky would rise and tuck the covers more securely about Sol without even so much as a second thought, and leave to start the day. Sol was always asleep when he left, but at least to his credit he was awake when Ky returned from his day. 

He couldn’t get more than a grunt out of Sol when he came home in the evenings, no warm “welcome homes.” Even a “my day was shitty” would have done, but Sol saved his talk for when words were truly important, which put an extra spark in Ky’s eyes when he did say anything. 

It was at night, sometime near the end of the long winter when Ky ventured the first touch. 

His fingers alighted on cool metal, the ubiquitous headband that Sol Badguy always wore across his forehead. He had been longing for weeks to slip it off in the middle of the night, to undo the buckles with his fingers, and reveal the symbol that he knew was lying underneath. Sol resisted, turning away from his gaze and his touch.

“Don’t.” 

Ky hesitated, wondering whether or not he should press the issue, if he should ask that Sol reveal more of himself than he already had. He already knew everything, so was it not enough? Or did that just give him more of a reason to see? Grimly, he decided to press forward. Ky Kiske was no coward, but there were some things he did have to summon great deals of courage to do; he might not be able to pull himself together a second time.

“I know already,” he said softly, shifting his body to be closer to Sol’s form, bunching up the blankets between them. “And I’m not afraid.”

Sol shook his head, but did not move away Ky approached ever closer, voicing each and every one of his fears. 

“I have never blamed you, Sol. I have never been afraid of you. The responsibilities of a world of mistakes don't rest on your shoulders.” Ky’s fingers, wrapped themselves about the straps lying on either side of the red metal, the words “Rock You” taunting him to make his final move. “And I have known, for many weeks, who I was sharing my house and my bed with.” 

Ky tore it off quickly and threw it from him, before Sol could change his mind and reach out for it. It clattered against the door of his closet and fell on the floor with a dull thud. But Ky hardly heard that as he stared at the symbol on Sol’s forehead in wonder, the Gear mark glowing dull red in the darkness.

Ky touched it reverently. It didn’t feel any different than any other patch of Sol’s skin might, but somehow the tips of his fingers tingled when they touched it faint outline. This was a mark he had hated his entire life, the symbol of everything had destroyed his childhood, and killed thousands of his men in the war. Yet Ky could muster no anger at this being in his bed, this being’s whose forehead he was touching gently. It was not pity that he felt either, nor sympathy that brought his hands wandering down to take Sol’s face in his hands. Not something as simple as that, not as simple as could be put into words. Not something that could be said. Ky smiled briefly as he pulled himself forward and closed his eyes as his lips brushed Sol’s skin.

The Gear mark flared beneath his lips for a tiny moment before dying down again, leaving Sol trembling and surprised, and Ky undisturbed as he slowly drew away. Sol had tilted his head upwards into the kiss, and Ky found himself smiling gracefully down at Sol as both their eyes fluttered open. 

“See?” Ky whispered, as if he had just completed a proof to a simple, universal truth—something so elementary that Sol should have known it from the beginning.

Ky bent down again and this time Sol met him halfway.

* * *

Ky was glad he’d had the foresight to pick a weekend where he had a holiday. Ky didn’t usually take his holidays, but nevertheless, he was not required to be in the office, so he could spent the morning lying in bed with Sol Badguy instead. For the first time since they had started sleeping together, Ky’s eyes had opened to Sol’s silhouette against the morning sunlight, his strong arms tracing small circular patterns in Ky’s back.

Sol looked uncertainly down at him for a moment, but Ky broke into a smile. “Bonjour,” he said.

“Good morning,” Sol answered after a moment. 

They didn’t rise from the bed to shuffle about the house until after the clock had struck noon. Ky had cheerfully chatted through the meals, and Sol for once was content to listen. They returned to bed earlier than usual that day, and Ky rose the next morning on schedule, at seven o’clock sharp.

* * *

Sol spent the subsequent days wandering about Paris in unease. He was not in the mood to catch any criminal bounties and was completely out of leads on That Man and any of his associates. The Parisian winter had finally given way to a tentative spring, and though there was still a thin layer of frost melting in the mornings, the hardy perennials growing on Ky’s balcony were already beginning to push up from the soil, and the trees already seemed a little less bare.

He spent very little time inside the house upon awakening; he had already read most of Ky’s books and with the winds turning warmer he found himself restless when confined indoors. It was not that much better when he was outside, for he still had nothing to do, but at least he could wander somewhere while deep in thought.

Sol had already wandered about the East Bank by dusk, when he went back home. Ky had not yet returned, and only the dim rooms and the silence greeted Sol when he swung the door inwards and placed his keys upon the hook. He paused for a long moment before shutting the door, and wondered when he had started thinking of this place as partly his. 

It had been a little over three months since he had first shown up on Ky’s doorstep in the midst of the first December snowstorm, and Sol wondered how the time had passed. Sol was accustomed to a feeling of restlessness that pervaded the air wherever he went. He never returned to the same place for more than a week. Bounty hunting gave him enough of an income for him to buy passage wherever his search for That Man might take him, it gave him enough for his meals and a roof over his head when he desired one, but he hadn’t been in the mood to go off on the chase for several weeks. For the past month, he’d just stayed in Paris, content to read by light of Ky’s fire and spend the night in the blond’s bed. 

He was becoming entirely too sedentary. With a snort of disgust, Sol turned once more to go and found the door almost hitting him in the face. 

“Where are you going?” Ky said in alarm, as he narrowly avoided smacking Sol with the door. Sol had all his clothes on, which was a change from the usual loose linen he wore around the house. “It’s almost dark out, and dinner will be ready shortly.” Ky shook off his cloak, shut the door, and hung his keys next to Sol’s. Before going to the bathroom to wash his hands and his face, he eyed Sol warily, sensing that something was amiss.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I’m not staying for dinner.”

Ky raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sol hadn’t missed a meal for as long as Ky could remember him being here.

Sol said nothing, suddenly reluctant to reach for the door. He figured he might as well make his escape quick, but there was no doubt that if he left this time, Ky would never forgive him, and never let him go. And Sol was not of a mind to be hunted like a criminal by one of the highest ranking and cleverest members of the International Police Force. He also doubted there existed a place in this world where Ky wouldn’t be able to track him down.

“You’re not leaving,” Ky said quietly, as the realization dawned on him. The blond shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You can’t stop me, you know,” Sol answered softly.

“I have never been able to stop you from coming and going at your will,” said Ky with bitterness, remembering the time he had been abandoned when the Sacred Order had needed Sol the most. “But—“

Ky’s words hung in the air between them, and what was left unsaid needed no completion. Sol had not made a single move towards the door since it had swung inwards on him, and though the round, brass doorknob was easily within his grasp, he found himself unable to extend his arm and wrap his fingers around it. 

“Are you going to leave me now? Can you leave me now?”

Ky’s eyes shone with anger as he advanced upon Sol and the room was cast into darkness as the last of the sun passed below the horizon. 

“I swear, Sol, I am not letting you go this time!”

Sol stood rooted to the spot. He had seen Ky in the grip of righteous fury before a battle, his eyes alight with a hopeful flame that he had never been able to summon within himself. Belatedly, Sol realized that the brightness in Ky’s eyes might not have been the anger, but instead was the last little bit of the twilight reflecting off the young blond’s tears. He had seen Ky cry on the battlefield because his men had died, but he had never seen Ky cry since.

“Do you know why?,” Ky’s voice said harshly, his voice no longer graceful, but hoarse with unrestrained emotion, “I’ve always…I’ve always—“ 

And Ky rushed forward, pinning Sol to the back of the door with his weight and pressed their lips together. Sol’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth opened in surprise just enough so that Ky deepened the kiss, both his hands securing Sol’s arms to the side. Ky held him there long enough for his tongue to trace the contours of Sol’s lips and satisfy itself in Sol’s mouth.

Ky finally pulled away, just as Sol started to relax and respond, and wiped the tears from his face. Sol helped, rough but gentle fingers collecting drops of tears from Ky’s chin. 

“If you leave, I’ll never forgive you,” Ky whispered, not trusting his voice not to waver if he spoke.

“I know,” Sol nodded.

Ky waited for him to turn his back, to prove wrong everything that Ky had come to believe in all these weeks, but Sol made no move. 

“I… guess I’m staying for dinner.” 

A small smile broke out amidst Ky’s tears. He wrapped his arms around Sol’s shoulders, pulling the older man to him and kissed him again. This kiss was fiery, insistent, and it wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. 

Dinner forgotten, Sol responded as Ky dragged him away from the door and down the hallway towards the bedroom. The past few weeks Ky had been surprisingly shy in bed, stopping just short of going too far. Sol had discovered that Ky preferred to just be held, and had begun to wonder whether or not the blond had a few things he wasn’t willing to admit to himself. As Ky began divesting the both of them of their clothes, his slender fingers flicking deftly over zippers, buttons, and buckles, Sol realized that he wasn’t the only who had just figured something out.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Sol woke again, his stomach grumbling at him unhappily and reminding him that he had skipped its favorite meal of the day. It certainly wasn’t unusual that Sol neglected to eat, but for the past few weeks Ky had been feeding him routinely, and it seemed his insides rather enjoyed having dinner on regular basis. 

Sol gently shifted Ky’s sleeping form from him, trying his best not wake the blond, but Ky woke nonetheless, as soon the source of his warmth left his side. Ky blinked sleepily in the moonlight, pausing to yawn before speaking.

“Where are you going?”

Sol opened the closet and took out his linen pants, the present Ky had given him for Christmas. “Making dinner.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“I don’t really,” Sol replied, sure that his cooking would probably not suit Ky’s refined palate. “Are you hungry?”

Ky shook his head. “Not terribly.” He slipped out of bed as Sol dressed lightly and wrapped his arms around Sol’s waist just as the man was turning to walk to the kitchen.

“Je t’aime,” Ky whispered, resting his cheek on the back of Sol’s shoulder. 

Sol smiled said nothing, because there were some words he didn’t quite know how to say, and some words that didn’t needed to be said to be understood.


End file.
